Bottoms Up!

I have recently read one of the funniest pieces of humor I have seen in a long time. The author goes only by the name Sissy and has posted this on fanstory.com. With her generous permission, I repost it here for your enjoyment and study. I feel it is a very well written piece that goes to the heart of the “war between the sexes”, if there is such a thing. If nothing else, it allows a glimpse into the advantage of being able to laugh at ourselves now and then.

I hope no one will take offense at the subject matter. It was not meant to poke fun at anyone, but was posted here 1). Because it is funny and 2). It addresses some universal and age-old differences of men and women in communication and understanding. It appeals to the human condition on a basic level and we can all identify with it in one way or another. Enjoy the read—and thank you again, Sissy!

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Women Unite!

In 2006, let us all join forces and take up arms against our male counterparts. No, this is not a case for the Honorable Judge Moody. This is personal!

Let me explain.

Sissy Lancombed is going to have a very bad afternoon. After showing her faux Brad Pitt the door, she needs to take a potty break. Too much wine, and she's pretty certain that the venti-three shot-expresso-non-fat-mocha-vanilla-latte from the local coffeehouse chain hasn't helped.


Sashaying into the bathroom, she undoes the hundred-dollar butt-lifter jeans and the Vicky's panties (super-low rise bikini cut, striped) and goes into the age old position—

And the bad afternoon begins.

"OOPH!"

Splash!

I cannot repeat what words are coming out of Miss Lancombed's mouth because, well...it wouldn't be ladylike.

Grabbing hold of the countertop and the towel rack, she struggles mightily for a few minutes, then pulls herself out of the porcelain god. She takes stock of herself, then shrieks in horror. Her posterior, once a subtle shade of khaki from the local tanning salon, is now a horrendous Tid-y-Bowl blue.

See, Sissy Lancombed knows one thing. Her currently blue rear is going to clash terribly with her pale orange striped undies. She undresses with haste and leaps into the shower. She grabs her thirty dollar bottle of moisturizing wash and the loofa, and goes to work.

Still Tid-y-Bowl blue.

Half in a panic, she moves on to the sea salt scrub. Yes, that pricey one from Crabtree and Evelyn. She's sure the company did not envision their product being used as a fragrant form of Comet or Ajax...but these are desperate times.

The Tid-y-Bowl color holds fast.

Why is it so hard for men to put the toilet seat back down? I don't get it. If you can remember to put it up, why not back down again? I mean, seriously, it's along the same lines as say, zipping one's pants. I mean, occasionally one might forget, but not always!

Now, I know you men out there are reading this and thinking, 'Why can't you ladies just put the toilet seat UP after you use it?'

The answer is very simple. Women always need the toilet seat down. Men need it both down AND up. I don't know any man who does 'Number Two' with the toilet seat up. Do you? Otherwise, they'd find themselves in the same predicament as our heroine, Miss Lancombed--who is currently dissolving into tears because her butt is STILL blue. Resourceful as ever, she is contemplating the use of Crest White Strips on her nether region to restore it to its former glory.

Is it so difficult? The toilet seat, I mean. They aren't there for aesthetic purposes--even the pretty, soft, flowery ones like those in Sissy Lancombed's place. Aren't toilet seats meant to be SAT on?
I believe I learned about some law of physics or gravity or nature in my high school science class that went something like, 'What goes up, must come down.' Surely men can see the wisdom in that?

Maybe not, thinks Miss Lancombed, as she pulls on a pair of blue and white striped undies and a matching bra. Then the jeans and a light blue cashmere sweater. Now, at least her clothes match her behind, which makes her situation more bearable. She dries her hair into a perfectly coiffed helmet and heads for the door. Maybe the tanning salon can help.

Toilet seats need a timer. Better yet, how about one of those red dot laser sensors that are so common in rest stops, movie theater and Wal-Mart rest rooms? You know, the little dot that beams into your bare back as you use the facilities and causes the toilet to flush, generally with great force, as you rise to a standing position and release the used tissue.

Hey! Every toilet seat should come with these! The Man could lift the seat, do his thing and then as the targeted form steps away, the sensor on the underside of the seat would signal for its descent. Come on, it could work! That way, we wouldn't have to hear excuse like, "I forgot" or "I heard the game come back on" or "I thought I DID put it back down!"

It might save a lot of relationships AND prevent the spread of some pretty gross germs.

After all, it's one thing to land tush-first in our OWN toilets--quite another to splash down into an unfamiliar toilet at a party or in a unisex bathroom...

EUUWWWWW.

Or maybe our men should just try harder. After all, it really is just a silly little thing, isn't it?